Diner Date
by trutealuver90
Summary: MJ's parent's think her boyfriend is a web-swinging villain - can she convince them he's just a friendly, neighborhood dork? FFH spoilers.
1. Chapter 1

I don't own things. Yay copyright. Enjoy.

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1: The Proposition.

MJ knew she had never exactly lived up to her parent's expectations throughout the years, but dating the guy who the entire state of New York thought might or might not be a web-slinging, murder-happy Avenger brought her parents to a whole level of disappointment.

"You're dating that _fiend_ from the Daily Bugle?" Her mother had practically spit out her chardonnay during Sunday night dinner.

"Actually, he's from school," MJ replied.

At the head of the table, her father chewed his steak too slowly, which meant he was thinking too hard, which was always a bad sign. Finally, he spoke, and he fired questions at her quicker than gunfire, "Is this why you've been spending so much time with the academic decathlon team? Does Midtown Tech even _have_ an academic decathlon team, Michelle? Or has this been a ruse just to hang out with this arachnid-obsessed Parker kid?"

Underneath the table, she pressed her palms into aggravated fists. She kept her voice light, "Well, I hope that's not true since I'm the team captain."

Her parents exchanged glances, silent looks that read, "_Oh Shit What Did Michelle Do Now". _This look had been very frequent throughout her childhood. Like in second grade, during her first ballet recital, when she had stood statue-still, her expression blank while the rest of the girls had skipped around her in confusion. This was not because she hadn't known the routine, she had, (and she had been pretty damn good at it). But because of her mother, who had told her in the car ride to the said recital that "ballet is a starting point in your journey to becoming an acceptable woman" and MJ, a vocab wiz, knew that _acceptable_ didn't have the same meaning as _awesome_ or _powerful_. Nobody called Wonder Woman or Black Widow _acceptable_, so hence kicking her ballerina career in the balls. Her mother's horrified expression sitting in the audience said it all.

The next time her parents had experienced the "_Oh Shit What Did Michelle Do Now" _expression was in fifth grade when she had to create a project for the science fair, and while assembling her homemade volcano, she had asked her father a question about acids and bases, and he, (very exasperated), had replied, "You don't need to know that, Michelle. You're not going to be a scientist." Out of spite, she had tripled the measurements in her volcanic mixture and created such a huge mess at the science fair that one of the custodians had cursed out her father in front of the entire PTA. The look on her father's face had been priceless.

The most recent and probably the biggest influencer of "_Oh Shit What Did Michelle Do Now" _was when she had prevailed on attending Midtown Tech over any of the other prestigious private school. ("But, honey, Midtown Tech is for smart people" her mother had sighed, only for MJ to cross her arms, her voice hammered out of steel, "Are you saying I'm not smart, Mother?"). In the end, Midtown Tech was the only private high school she got into because all the other schools had mysteriously withdrawn their scholarship offers. (Little did her parents know it was because Michelle had sprouted accurate but just vaguely unsettling facts during her interviews: "That's a nice bust of Caesar you have here, Dean Larken. Did you know that during the Roman Empire, during Lupercalia, men would beat their wives with bloody animal hides to make them more fertile?").

MJ had been saving another big "_Oh Shit What Did Michelle Do Now" _moment for when she choose colleges, or maybe when she saved up enough money for a car. (She wanted a black Volkswagen Beetle because her mother had said BMW's were exclusively tacky). But unfortunately, dating Peter Parker had taken the cake.

"Honey," her mother's voice, high pitched with alcohol and incoming stress shook MJ back to the present. "You're in a serious relationship with a dangerous killer?"

"It's not serious," MJ blushed. Sure, they had been dating for over six months, but calling it serious made it sound like they themselves were serious. On the contrary, Peter sent her daily Snapchats of him with the smushed face filter, and MJ replied with the finger.

Her father held up his phone, pointing at his open news app, "You want to go away for a whole weekend with a guy who the Daily Bugle called 'excessively deceptive' and a 'masked menace'?"

MJ squinted at the screen, "Dad, that article came out in _July._ It's _December_. And the author's name is _IhateSpideyBoi69._"

"It doesn't matter! He's still viewed as an enemy of the public!"

MJ snorted. Peter Parker? Public enemy? This was the same guy who always brought her a veggie deluxe sub from Delmar's ("With extra pickles, smushed real flat" just the way she liked it). The same guy who sometimes hummed the Bill Nye theme on their walks to class, sometimes for fun, sometimes to annoy her. Peter, who waited without fail by her locker after school, unassumingly cool in his flannel-sweater combo and jeans until he tripped over his shoes.

But still, her parents, as annoying as they were, had some semblance of rights to be more than concerned about this. Ever since the Daily Bugle had leaked Spiderman's identity, Peter's life had been extra crazy than normal. To say it was New York, and to say New York didn't necessarily care that its own crime-fighting superhero was a sixteen-year-old was an overstatement. Weirder things happened in Times Square on a daily basis than a teenager swinging from buildings. But after the news had broken, hoards of concerned mothers started contacting May, ranting about child endangerment, meanwhile, the NYPD was scratching their heads, because now if Spiderman accidentally caused damage to the city during fights, couldn't they technically arrest Peter for the destruction of property? Environmental activists were concerned about his web fluid and whether it was decomposable. Neighbors wanted autographs, reporters wanted interviews, and Peter was caught in the middle, not wanting to respond.

Luckily, Pepper Potts had swooped in, steamrolling the path for him. She called out Daily Bugle, chastising them for attacking a minor. ("How could you expose a teenager into the public eye like this? It just sickens me to my core," she had demanded, teary-eyed for effect, and gripped her daughter Morgan's hand tightly, "When Tony revealed his identity to the public, it was very hard for him, as an adult, to make that decision. I will not confirm Spiderman's true identity because it should be his choice, but to rip the mask of a child, a _minor_, and accuse him of murder is just absurd.").

Then she pulled strings and got New York to pass a state law called Tony's Law, which stated until a minor reaches the legal age of eighteen, he or she has the right to remain silent about their superhero identity. This meant that legally, Peter didn't have to admit to anyone that he _was_ really Spiderman, at least until he was eighteen. But it didn't stop the Daily Bugle from writing hate-fueled opinion articles about Spiderman, because, legally, if Peter wasn't going to say he _was_ Spiderman, then, legally, The Daily Bugle could take regular dumps on him because legally, Peter Parker and Spiderman were two separate people that no one could essentially prove otherwise until Peter said so.

The whole thing had given MJ a major headache. The worst part was that Peter had to lay low, which meant their relationship had to lay low as well. He had spent most of the summer upstate with his aunt and Happy, trying to get away from the chaos. They had Facetimed as much as possible, but it put on a damper on what Peter had teasingly dubbed "the summer of romance". Their plans of swinging around the city, Peter showing her the best views, had fallen through with the Daily Bugle trashing his identity. If people knew she and Peter were dating, and then saw her swinging with Spiderman, they would put two and two together. So they had spent the very beginning of the relationship long-distance, but once school had started, things had begun to turn vaguely back to normal. For their relationship, at least.

For Peter, it was slower; he still had people giving him weird looks in the hallway. He had an air of mystery now, the question of Spiderman following him around. Was that really him? If you were friends with Peter Parker, would he admit the truth? Peter got asked to join the football team; he was invited to parties, hell, Flash even offered to loan him his convertible. But MJ admired the way he fronted it, choosing to stick close to her and Ned. ("They don't actually like _me_," he had said, reaching over to intertwined his fingers with hers underneath the cafeteria table. His hands had a tendency to find hers when he was nervous. "They want to say they hung out with the Peter who fights aliens. Not the Peter who aces his physics test.")

So now, with winter break a week away, some alone time to finally spend together in sight, Peter had offered to take her to the Stark cabin before Christmas with their respective families. Pepper and Morgan would be gone for three days on a business trip and offered Peter use of the house. This to MJ meant three whole days of hanging out with no weird looks from classmates. No May knocking on Peter's door asking if they wanted Thai or Chinese, no Ned sitting in between them constructing the Lego Millenium Falcon. Just three days with her super nerdy, super cute boyfriend.

Except by the looks her parents were giving her, MJ could already feel her dream slipping.

"He's not as bad as he sounds," MJ began, only for her mother and clank her wine glass against the table.

"How do we know, Michelle? We haven't even met him?" Her mother said.

MJ bit her lip, silently cursing herself. She shouldn't have told them the truth, she wasn't going to, except as soon as the conversation had started, her mother had reared down on her like a hawk. ("You've got a boyfriend, don't you? Please, I've ticked off all the signs. You started birth control. You bought those new bras. You started putting spinach in your morning smoothie - everyone knows that superfoods are good for the skin, you must be trying to look good for someone." MJ knew she should have seen the red flag at these comments, though full of her mother's usual quips, left her annoyed and unable to focus keeping information in rather than out. (1: She had started birth control because her cycle was infrequent. 2: There was a two for one sale at Macy's, couldn't a girl splurge? And, 3: She just liked spinach, okay?).

"Your mother has a point," her father said, his steak chewing accelerating as his anger grew, "You expect us to let you go away for a weekend with a guy we haven't met like it's fine."

MJ struggled to contain her anger. Part of her wanted to rebel and go on the trip anyway, but then she realized that this would only give her parents more ammunition to suspect Peter to be Spiderman. Seeing she had backed herself in a corner, MJ took a deep breath, knowing what she had to do and wishing she it was possible to kick herself. Hard. Right in her ovaries. So maybe next time, she'd remember how uncomfortable this situation made her.

"So? I'll invite him over for dinner," MJ said, tossing her parents a stiff smile, "We have off school Friday, so he can come over on Thursday evening. And then we can go to his family's lake house that weekend."

Her parents agreed, which made MJ feel worse, knowing they were only agreeing to the proposition because they could come to the table prepared to evaluate everything about him. But luckily, MJ had a plan.

She found him the next day at school, waiting patiently beside her locker, headphones in as his gaze dipped, his mouth pressed firmly as he shuffled through his playlist. Like clockwork, he raised his head and grinned just as she approached, always sensing she was there before she made it evident. Most people assumed he had good timing, MJ knew it was because he had that extra sense.

"Hey," Peter tugged his earbud out, "What's up?"

MJ rocked on the balls of her Vans. "I need a favor."

Instantly, his shoulders straightened, ready to face whatever came next. Which, since MJ knew well of the shit storm heading his way, he was smart to do so. "Yeah. Anything."

She focused on her eyes on his converse, her point of stability, then slowly worked her gaze to his. She spoke when they were finally eye level, "I need you to meet my parents."


	2. 2: The Code Name

"Okay," MJ looked up from her Comp Sci notes, "Next question: what do you do in your free time, Mr. Parker?"

It was Wednesday. She was sitting on his bed, her homework spread across her lap. Peter's room in May's new apartment Post-Blip was small but cozy; his white walls were covered with posters. The Ramones. Led Zeppelin. The New York Mets flag. Next to his bed, was his cluttered desk, overflowing with homework and college essay drafts. Outside the window, the snowy, gray afternoon was slipping into evening darkness.

Standing from the ceiling, flipping through his Spanish textbook, Peter scrunched his glasses up his nose. "Um, in my free time, I'm in Ac-Dec. And band. And robotics lab."

She shook her head, "You sound unconvincing even to me. When was the last time you actually _went _to robotics, Peter?"

"Does it matter? Your parents won't know!" He sighed, letting the Spanish textbook drop to the ground with a thud.

MJ glared at him, "Yes. They will. And unless you can beef up your resume in the next twenty four hours and then recite it back to me perfectly, you're not going to make it past the first salad."

"Shit, how many salads are in this freaking meal?"

She had been quizzing him for the past two days. All the questions her parents could possibly ask him during this dinner, from minutes he walked through the front door to the end of dessert. They had covered the basics: his backstory - he came from a working class household ("Don't spend too much time on your family history" MJ had advised, "They just want the statistics."). What he was going to wear - khakis and a sweater with a collared shirt underneath ("Are you sure that's okay? I could wear something nicer?" Peter had asked, and she had waved him away, "No, you're fine. You already dress like someone's dad, it's too late to fix that."). But now, MJ was trying to comb through potential threats her parents could find in Peter: he had great grades, but was he going to apply to any Ivy Leagues? He was polite, but what if he used the wrong fork for the appetizer?

Peter landed beside her on the bed, rubbing his forehead. "What am I doing wrong, MJ?"

The confusion, the hurt in his tone made her heart flinch in shame. MJ took a deep breath, "I'm sorry… it's not you. It's just that my parents are, um, aggressively judgemental."

Peter snorted, "Great."

"I'm sorry," MJ threw up her hands, "I'm sorry, okay?"

"I'm not mad at you." He carefully took her hands into his, squeezing them. She rolled her eyes but after a second, she scooted closer, resting her head on his shoulder.

After a few minutes, he nudged her. "Hey, maybe we should, like, come up with a code name or something."

"A code name?"

"Yeah," he cleared his throat, "Like, you know, if there's a question I can't answer or your parents are grilling me hard. I could say something, like, to signal you to jump in."

MJ nodded, "Okay. Like what?"

"Like…" Peter glanced up at his posters, "... Like, oh! Like, 'The Mets are doing great this season.'"

"But they're not."

He frowned, "That's why it's called a 'comeback', MJ! They're making a comeback!"

It was enough to make her laugh at least, picking her head off his shoulders and shoving him playfully. Peter flopped against his comforter, tugging her down with him. Nose to nose, he smiled, and MJ adjusted his glasses in return.

"Do you think your parents are going to be this crazy?" Peter said, then blushed, "I mean, not that _you're_ being crazy - I'm just, you know, speaking hypothetically."

MJ half smiled, then bit her lip. "They're always crazy, Peter."

"What do they do, anyway? Like, are they bank robbers? Does your dad own NASA? Is your mom Gordon Ramsey's cousin?"

"Peter!"

"What? What! You haven't told me anything about them so anything is possible!"

"I guess you'll find out tomorrow," she smirked.

He groaned. MJ smiled for real this time, "Um, not to alarm you, but you've got a Spanish quiz tomorrow, and I've got reading to finish… "

Peter dipped his head closer to hers, "Or we could stay here. For a little bit."

MJ rolled her eyes at him again, but wrapped her arms around his neck. "Just a little bit."

She closed her eyes as he leaned in and she felt his hands cup her cheek, eliminating space between them. Things were just getting going, their kisses longer and their hands wandering, when the door to Peter's room creaked open. They jumped apart; Peter rolled over onto the floor and Mj sat upright to see May, covering her eyes guiltily, rambled, "I'm so sorry - I should have knocked -"

"You _should_ have knocked!" Peter moaned, rubbing the back of his head.

"I just wanted to know if you guys wanted pizza or veggie stew!" May squeezed out the last her words and promptly slammed the door shut.

MJ gathered her embarrassment, and called out, "Pizza, please!"

From the other side of the door came May's muffled voice, "Thanks!"

Peter swore under his breath, wincing, he yelled, "Pepperoni please, May!"

MJ slid onto the floor beside him. "Did Spidey hit his head?"

"And my back," he mumbled, "And my ass. Can we, um, start where we left off."

"Of course," she leaned over and kissed him, then pushed him back, and grabbed his Spanish textbook. "Now, what page were you on?"


End file.
